


In C

by Darkdragonforge



Category: Parahumans Series - Wildbow
Genre: Cult, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-30
Updated: 2020-01-30
Packaged: 2021-02-27 04:13:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,179
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22470871
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Darkdragonforge/pseuds/Darkdragonforge
Summary: A peek into a group of truly noble heroes under the careful tutelage of one Dr. Gramme and Mr. Terrell.
Kudos: 1





	In C

**Author's Note:**

> Written for PCT.

The Facility is cold, the Facility is quiet, but most importantly, the Facility is clean.

The facility is large, but not nearly as big as the Below. If it was as big as the Below it would be much harder to keep clean. Though some younger classmates of mine say we are trapped here, I know that is not true. Bare white walls, made of a strong ceramic keep us safe from the warm, dirty, and loud Below. 

We will help save the below-folk someday soon, but before we do, Mr. Terrell and Dr. Gram need to make sure we are taught how to do so perfectly. Failure is not an option, especially when Dr. Gram has kept us fed and watered, while Mr. Terrell has taught us all he knows. If we fail then that would be such a tremendous waste of time and resources.

I feel a sharp prick in my wrist. I know what that means. My watch has just reminded me that it is time to go to class. I stand up carefully, making sure not to make noise as I sit up from the smooth ceramic stool, and then begin my short walk to the Classroom.

As I walk, I see but do not hear my classmates join me. I am swiftly passed by two of my kin, both of whom enter the room before I do.

I cannot allow this to frustrate me during class. There is no room for conflict in the classroom. It would be counter-productive. Instead I remember what Mr. Vasil says to do. I throw my frustration into my pit, making sure it is nestled as deeply as I can push it.

I sit down on the third seat as quietly as I can. It is not like the stools in the common room which are integrated into the floor, it is instead a chair connected to a desk, both of which are made from a clean white metal.

I swivel my head towards the center of the wall in front of the room. I rest my eyes on one of the few differently colored items in the facility. 

The cool black of Mr. Terrells monitor allowed my eyes a moment of respite from the clean beautiful searing white of the walls, ceiling, furniture and floor of the facility.

Sometimes I wish we could have an entire room of black. The closest I get to fulfilling this dream is by closing my eyes and pressing my head against a surface to obfuscate my surroundings, but the bright light the walls give off somewhat destroy the effect.

I stare at the monitor. I know it will turn on soon, and then the class will begin. I idly shake my leg, careful to not touch any part of the desk with it, because otherwise it would create a noise.

After a few minutes, the monitor flicks on, and in the very center of the display I can see the smiling face of our primary teacher, Mr. Terrell. I have been anticipating this lesson, because in our last class we were told that if we did well on the next lesson, he would allow us to use “a tool of heroism”.

I wasn’t sure what he meant by that, but it included the word hero, thus must be something important and exciting.

Mr. Terrell’s eyes quickly flitted from one side to the other, presumably making sure the entire class was here. He turned down and typed something on his keyboard, before looking back at us, a small but visible smile on his face.

“Well class, me and the good doctor have been watching each of you, and I must say we are impressed.”

They’re impressed? Really? Well we have been doing well, haven’t we? I don’t think any of us have failed an order in months? Not after what happened to David.

David. Right. I pushed down on something that felt bad inside. It wasn’t anger or frustration. It was something slick, and roiling, and slimy.

It sat uncomfortably in my pit, but I refocused on Mr. Terrell’s lesson. 

“-ay you will be taking a test, and if each of you excel, as I think you will, I will allow each of you to take one of these.”

Our teacher carefully leaned down and came back up with a smooth silver metal canister.

“This, dear students, holds a tool for heroism. Like any tool, tools for heroism are made to be used, but only by those who are trained to, right?”

That makes sense. You wouldn’t want anyone operating heavy machinery if they don’t know how. That could only end in disaster. 

Mr. Terrel began to speak again and I snapped my head up.

“Unlike most tools however, tools of heroism can not be taken back. Once you are given a tool of heroism, it can not be removed. You will hold the tool until the day you die. Those in the Below will hold similar tools, but they orient them in a purely destructive direction. They live in a blisteringly hot, violently loud and unfathomably dirty wasteland, scoured of all that makes it hospitable.”

I swallowed thickly. How did anything survive down there? The idea of living in such a terrible place forced a feeling I could recognize as nausea bubble up. I pressed it down to the pit, harder than I did earlier.

“The test will now begin! I’m sure you won’t disappoint me, students!”

The screen shut off. Oh no. I missed instructions! I look around at my peers, each of them still and quiet. So I try to emulate them.

After a while the top of the connected desk starts to melt away, a black monitor pushing through the oozing metal. The monitor lit up, revealing a screen full of questions.

The first few were simple, mostly just questions to confirm who was sitting where. After typing in my name, I moved on to slightly more complex questions, but even the more complicated questions were simple enough. 

The last question however, I was stuck on, not because it seemed hard to answer, but because I didn’t understand what the question meant. Sure there were only two possible responses, yes or no, but that doesn’t make it that much easier.

I mean, who or what is a Deviant? Was that what I missed while I was feeding my pit? And what does reclaiming mean in this context? Is a Deviant a piece of technology that was stolen? Were Deviants the tools used by the below-folk? 

I suppose it doesn't matter too much. I tapped the yes box, followed by submit. With a sudden chirp that almost made me jump, the screen changed to a different one, this one instructing me to head the artium.

I listened, and turned to do so. I felt a tingling sensation of triumph as I realised I was the first to finish, and I allowed myself a small, brief smile.

I left the classroom and headed towards the artium.

Boy, I sure am excited.


End file.
